Two Hours Till Midnight
by SaturnXK
Summary: Jack is a gang member who lives in the moment, and Elsa is a medical student who never goes home before ten o'clock. They first collide in a crowd, and a day later, in a dark alley. Their third meeting seals the deal, in blood and knives and an open doorway. (But how rude of me, I should introduce myself: I am Loneliness, and sometimes, I kill people.) – Jack/Elsa. streetgang!au.
1. I AM LONELINESS

cover image from travel dot nationalgeographic dot com.

so idk what to say to you guys here. um, i think this au is pretty different to what i've done in the past, and what's been seen here in the frozen/rotg crossovers. it's got a pretty dark atmosphere to it, so if you haven't already left yet because my writing style is like really weird, i'm warning you that this will be a heavy fic, and probably not recommended for younger readers or if you're looking for something light and fluffy.

**inspired by:** in some ways from _the book thief_, and a small part from the exo fanfiction story _do you remember? _by inked_parchment which can be found on livejournal. also, i think it has a bit of a _durarara!_ feel to it.

lol, well, as stephen fry once said: "an original idea. that can't be too hard. the library must be full of them."

**rating:** hovering between t and m for language and mature themes, but i will stick with t because there are no details, only implications.

**warning: implied rape, implied child abuse.**

**notes:** clara frost will be the name of jack's younger sister.

**chapter one (prologue, of sorts):** I AM LONELINESS

* * *

Hello there. My name is Loneliness. I am your Narrator.

That's how it usually goes, right?

Let me tell you a little bit about myself. Listen, please? I hope you will, because nowadays people don't really listen anymore. It breaks my heart, to be honest.

I am Loneliness. I visit people a lot. All the people in the world, actually. I like stories, and it's interesting, because humans, being humans, are walking words. I could sit here and gush about every story I've ever heard, ever seen, ever touched, but then we'll be here until the end of Time, and Time, I know, doesn't stop for anyone.

So today, I'll pick one out of billions. There's no special reason, why I chose this one out of everyone else's. Except for the fact that all of them are so, so _fascinating _that they are all special, in their own way. I suppose that sounds a little clichéd, don't you think? I would apologise, but apologising isn't really something that comes naturally to me.

I am Loneliness. Loneliness doesn't apologise.

Back to the matter at hand: I will tell you about a girl named Elsa Queen.

Think about it. Listen.

Elsa Queen. Elsa Queen. El-sah Kw-ee-n.

It's very ordinary. Elsa Queen.

But after you say her name (come, say it. El-sah. Kw-ee-n), it becomes strange on your tongue, as if it's been twisted and plunged into a distorted liquid, and while it's still the same (Elsa Queen), at the same time, it's not (El-sah Kw-ee-n).

Elsa Queen's life has two parts. I like to call it pre-Jack, and after-Jack. It makes it a little bit more attention grabbing than 'from birth till thirteen' and 'from thirteen till the end of her life', don't you think? It makes you wonder who Jack is. Her brother? Her lover? Her enemy? Her friend? Her classmate? No one at all?

Pre-Jack, Elsa had a very normal childhood. Well, as normal as one's can get. She has a younger sister named Anna, four years her junior. She went to a good school, got good grades, and even managed to score a boyfriend here and there. Though being only ten (her first one) and twelve (her second), they didn't do much outside of holding hands and taking walks in the park. I know this, because I am always there. Elsa had few friends, and spent most of her day in the silence of the library.

Her parents loved her very much. It was a little bit sickening to see. But then again, Love is my enemy. Everything she does sickens me.

I am Loneliness, and Loneliness is banished by Love.

But at thirteen, Elsa comes home one day with Anna in tow, to find her housekeeper Gerda crying into the kitchen table.

Despair is my closest friend; he often comes with me, arms linked. That day, Despair blanketed the Queen household, now missing two members. Death, an acquaintance of mine, had taken her mother and father.

I will skip the part where Elsa and Anna cry. I will skip the part where they struggle to live without their guiding figures. I will skip six months, because that time, while I thrived and flourished within dark corners and under beds, is something I believe Elsa never wishes for anyone to know. Never say that I am not a courteous fellow.

At eight months, things settle down.

But it's become habit for Elsa to wander the streets at night after dropping Anna off at an empty home. They live in an apartment near the city, so she will make her slow way past all sorts of things that never close until the light of day. There are many people who enjoy the nightlife.

Elsa finds it very hard to come home before ten o'clock in the evening. There is just something about that time, about the colour of the sky at that moment, about the ten strikes that chime from the city's tower clock, that renders her unable to move her feet towards her waiting sister, and she's stuck forever darting in and out of side streets and alleys and loitering before giant lit-up stores whose colourful lights reflect in her eyes.

But at thirteen, nearing fourteen, she is still young and vulnerable. Adolescence claws in her body, and it's dangerous for her to be out alone.

So it's one night in thousands, blurring by like a speeding train, here and then gone again. And yet this night differs from the rest, in that Gerda opens the door at midnight, worry darkening her face like a cloud and a phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline, and she sees Elsa standing there, face white like snow.

There is blood on her skirt and it's drying on her legs, and Elsa looks like she wants to cry. Except she doesn't, not until Gerda has ushered her inside. Not until she throws away the clothes and gives her a bath and tucks her into bed. Not until Gerda is tossing fitfully in their shared room, that Elsa weeps quietly into her pillow and curls up into a ball and holds her hands close to her chest, as if she is trying to keep the pieces of her shattered heart together.

The next morning, Gerda goes to the police and takes Elsa to the hospital. Anna is only nine (almost ten) and she doesn't understand. Elsa doesn't tell her, only murmurs that she's a little bit hurt today. Anna gasps and pressed a Hello Kitty Band-Aid into her sister's palm, and the act is so childlike and innocent that Elsa wants, crazily, to laugh, but she manages something mixed between a chuckle and a sob instead, and ends up bawling her eyes out.

Anna just hugs her and pats her head and tells her it's going to be alright. Elsa has prayed to 'be alright' for months already.

(She's beginning to lose faith.)

* * *

Let me tell you, in the years after her parent's death and before meeting Jack, I was a constant guest in this house. Consequently, I know it very well.

Here, in this doorway, Gerda first invited me in. I flitted past the policeman at the door, who broke the news that Mr and Mrs Queen were dead, and when Gerda moaned and clapped a hand over her mouth, I was there, hovering at her side. Despair is crueler though, and he pushes her down, sinks her knees into the rough red carpet, and he sighs with content as Gerda wails.

After that, I occupy everything. My presence soaks into the walls and the furniture; I lay on the floor and hang from the ceiling like a grotesque bat. In the living room, I age the wooden table and creak the chairs. In the hallway, I am the reason why it seems to take forever to walk from one end to the other. But where I live, truly, is _inside_.

I inhabit minds; I play games with them, much like humans play scissors-paper-rock, or tic-tac-toe. I am a hallucination, an illusion, a product of the brain, but at the same time, I am the realest thing you will ever meet.

(Sometimes, I am Loneliness. Other times, I am Fear.)

But I rather like being Loneliness. I am a patient creature, I like to bide my time. Loneliness is slow. Fear, while it can creep up and pause and wait a while, is ultimately something that comes in a flash and leaves. The result, while a lot of people mistake it for my other half, is really isolation and insecurity.

Elsa, in a way, welcomed me. I grew very close to her, found out her deepest, darkest secrets, things she would whisper soundlessly into the velvet of the night, things that no one else can hear except for me. Elsa, in the rough transition between pre-Jack and after-Jack and the after-effects of That Night, loses her words. There are times when she goes weeks without saying anything.

She's like winter, a little bit. That's what I often compare her to. Frozen and cold, cracked and silent. But then, when an avalanche comes or the ice breaks, it explodes with a fury that surprises even me.

But then, we'll have to wait. Her detonation hasn't started yet.

* * *

Now, we'll take a break from Elsa. Now, I'll tell you a little bit about Jack. His story is one that can be found in any city around the world: he grew up without a father and with a hooker for a mother. His mother, Vanessa Frost, had dark mahogany hair and lips perpetually stained red. She disappeared almost every night, and when she _was _home, she slapped around her two children like a small girl might throw around her rag doll.

But the truth of the matter is that Vanessa _really did_ love Jack and Clara Frost. She really, truly did. Isn't it ironic? Because as the two of them lay still on the dirty floor, smashed dinner plates scattered like sand across the room, both nursing blossoming bruises and cut lips, Despair lurks over them, while I stand there quietly in the corner, as both Loneliness and Fear, and hand in hand with me is Love, crying silent tears all down her face. At this time, Love will look a little too much like Vanessa, who will always be slumped up against the wall opposite them.

This is Jack's story, from birth till the day he likes to call The Day My Mother Was Killed. It happens at approximately eleven years old. Clara is perhaps seven. Both of them don't miss her much. Vanessa may have loved them, but they never loved her in return, quite understandably so.

Social workers come to visit them all the time. In a city like this though, there is no support system. Maybe, if they had been born somewhere else, they would have been put in an orphanage and given the possibility of an adoption. But the reality is that the government is corrupt and its officials are just starving dogs sniffing around for meat. The reality is that in a city like this, no one cares, and those who do are looking for something to steal off of you.

Jack and Clara make do on their own. I can't tell you exactly what they did; that would ruin the story. You'll find out later on. It might surprise you, it might not. It might disgust you, it might not. Either way, this is but a small peek into Jack's past. It might make his later actions a little more logical, it might not. But you cannot judge him until you know his full story.

(And you probably never will.)

* * *

[present day]

It's ten o'clock again. Ten o'clock at night, and everything is a deep, manic grey, the sort of grey that feels dark and oppressive and clinks like silvery chains. There's a slight storm coming from the west, and a harsh breeze whips through Elsa's hair as she sits at a twenty-four hour café and idly stirs a cup of lukewarm coffee.

Her phone vibrates.

Text message from: Anna

Elsa! Where are you?  
You know I don't like you  
staying out late :(

Blue eyes scan the text idly, and Elsa tucks her phone back into her pocket and dismisses it.

She nods to the exhausted waiter and shoulders her bag, merging easily with the crowd and picking her way daintily through the throng of people.

She's just about to step onto the road when something slams into her with all the force of a rhino, and Elsa gasps and then the pavement is rushing up to her face. With fast reflexes, she manages to catch herself in time before her nose is crushed, and then she flips around and gets up and snaps at the attacker, who's picking himself off the ground as well.

"Watch where you're going," she snarls. He's a boy, maybe her age, with dyed white hair and blue eyes. He's standing like he's been cornered, knees bent and eyes flickering this way and that.

"Fuck," he hisses, and he spins full circle, as if he is trying to look for something. "Fuck, shit, fuck fuck fuck."

Elsa scoffs and turns to leave, because she has better things to do than mess with someone who's obviously already in trouble. Gang members, most likely. She doesn't see a tattoo on him, but he's wearing a sleeved blue hoodie and long black jeans and boots, so it's probably hidden.

This is the first time Elsa Queen encounters Jack Frost. She forgets about him completely in the span of an hour, when she comes home to find Anna with tears pricking the corners of her eyes, sitting at the dinner table, and shackled and sniffling with Worry.

* * *

author's note:

our narrator is both loneliness and fear. i guess you could almost say that pitch black is the narrator lol omg.

asdfghjkl this fic is really weird, i don't know if the style is really suited for this site because there are a lot of young readers here and the older ones idk do you guys go for things like this? omfg but anyway yeah, this is chapter one (sort of prologue).

i sort of needed a narrator because a) i've never written a story with a narrator before and i wanted to try it and b) i needed a random third party observer because then i can do things like switch around and stuff more easily. it's very much like _the book thief_'s Death, isn't it? lol, i gave Death an honourable mention in this chapter, kudos to you markus zusak.

also, i had sworn to myself that i would never write another multi-chapter here on again because of the disastrous results from my previous attempts. but i have a good feeling about this fic, so i'll hopefully stay with it until the end.

other than this chapter, there **will not be implied rape nor child abuse again** in this story.

i'm super nervous now because idk how this story will be received /sobs in the corner.

thank you for reading. a review (preferably telling me what you thought of this) would be really appreciated. like super-duper appreciated, because i want to know what you guys think and i really don't know.


	2. The Red Crowns

**inspired by:** one of the themes in this story is sort of like 'what does it take to be a human? what are humans, exactly? what makes a human'? this is stimulated by books such as _the book thief_, which i mentioned in chapter one, and also the manga/anime _fullmetal alchemist_.

i started watching the anime _k _a few days ago, and i promise i did not get the idea of the red king from there (you'll know what i'm talking about further down). i had written this chapter and planned the story ages ago, and when i started watching _k _i was surprised by how similar the concept of the clans and my gang were. coincidence, i swear. (btw, can i just say WTF THE ENDING WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS?)

**rating: **this chapter is probably a solid t for one swear word and some violence.

**warning: **some violence.

**notes:** stella morta/the city of dead stars is a city that i created, and it is nestled in a small corner of the world. idk where though lol. i've taken ideas off new york, tokyo and seoul.

the schooling system in this fic is based off australia though, which is where i live. i figure it'll be easier for me than trying to understand other education systems. so here, after highschool, you go straight to university, not college (i still don't know exactly what purpose college has), which is what elsa has done.

the king of hearts that i talk about in here is the king of hearts that you would find in playing cards.

**cameos: **rapunzel from _tangled_ (she'll probably be a permanent add to the cast); the stabbington brothers from _tangled_ (i have named them hugo and herbert); hook hand, pub thug of the snuggly duckling, also from _tangled_; li shang, army captain and love interest from _mulan_; scar (prince taka) antagonist from _the lion king_.

**chapter two:** the red crowns

* * *

I often associate certain characteristics with certain cities. It makes it easier to remember them, gives them a defining point, much like pasting onto them a personality stereotype. But it doesn't last for long, because cities transform with the people, and people are constantly merging and emerging and warping and clearing. That is the nature of humans. I like this part of them, though, because it keeps me on my toes. Just when I think I have humans all figured out, one of them does something that throws me completely off. But more on that later.

Stella Morta is one of my favourite cities. There is something different about it, I can't exactly put into words. Among all the cities of the world, I feel like it best reflects human nature. There are so many facets to this city; it's a puppet, made to echo humans, made to represent how humans act and feel and think. But it's also an abstract shape, an exaggeration on humanity; a puppet can move in ways no human can, it is distorted, and through its clicking mouth flows the words of an ever-changing civilisation.

This city came into being around four hundred years ago. I wasn't interested in it at its founding time; however, I visited it a lot because the settlers that came had left families and friends behind. As Loneliness, I was obligated to come. But now, it has changed. Now, it is interesting.

It is very hard to explain, for you, who have never lived in this city. The people are all of the middle-class or higher, with around one million struggling in the downtown areas. But I will tell you about the one 'class' that I find absolutely _captivating_. They are the youth of the city.

Gangs run Stella Morta, and Families run the gangs. Of the six million people, three million of them are in a gang of some form or other. Of the three million, around two million are made up of kids from as young as seven to around twenty-five. No one really knows why. The police speculate, crime analysis experts speculate, but there is nothing wrong with these children. Three-quarters of them come from well-to-do families; the other quarter is made up of your clichéd parentless hooligans. But the one thing they all have in common is their love of blood and knives and violence and terror.

There are hundreds of gangs around the city, but one of the biggest ones is called the Red Crowns.

Jack Frost is a member of the Red Crowns. He is twenty-one years old. He joined them when he was twelve.

I was there, the day he asked to join. He was Lonely.

* * *

[five years ago]

Jack remembers his initiation very well. But when asked, he mumbles that he just had to do something so explicably horrifying that he never wants to think of it again.

(It still haunts him sometimes, the screams. When the night is dying and it's the darkest hour before dawn, that's when he recalls it the most.)

He finishes his initiation quite successfully.

(The man who oversaw his initiation is a strong, imposing Chinese man named Li Shang. He tells Jack that the number four in Chinese is unlucky, because it sounds like the word for death, and that it is no accident that it took Jack four tries to pass his test.)

At his initiation, I came not as Loneliness, but as Fear. Jack was terrified, but what twelve-year-old wouldn't be? The test is something that even most grown men can't do. The willpower Jack possessed to finish it is strengthened by the love he holds for his sister.

For Clara. Jack joined the Red Crowns only for Clara.

And then the next day, Jack is taken to a tattooist in the outer areas of Stella Morta. Printed onto his skin, ink forever sealed into his flesh, an image of the King of Hearts surrounded by a thin circle is pricked just under his left collarbone. It takes days to finish, but the result is an elaborate symbol of his membership, and, as Jack would later come to call it, his slavery.

* * *

[present day]

It's noon.

Everyone is going out to lunch, bathing in the streaks of sunlight that is just the right temperature of warm.

There's an abandoned building right beside a cheerful coffee shop. In contrast with the shop's bright atmosphere and yellow sunflowers displaying in front, the building is made of elderly crimson bricks and its windows are sealed with planks of rotting wood.

That's how Stella Morta works. Complete opposites living side by side. Gang members sneaking through schools filled with kids, a sniper having lunch back to back with an office worker, delinquents smoking right outside of hospitals.

The abandoned building once was a bank, but it was shut down because, quite honestly, it's in one of the worst spots a bank could be: a neutral zone right at the dividing line of two hostile gang territories.

When you walk inside, there's a huge room. And it's empty, save for the long table situated right in the very middle. It's too dark to see anything else, shadows clinging to the sides and dust caking every available surface.

There's a silent assembly in this room. On one end of the table sits two brothers, both strikingly huge and each displaying a gun clearly on their hips. Three men stand behind them, one guards the entrance, and the other patrols the overhanging balcony on the second floor, which overlooks the whole scene. It is a picture of grim tension, hatred smothering their hard faces.

On the other end, however, a young boy slouches in a high-backed chair. His legs are propped up on the table, cheek resting in a palm, and he lolls his head arrogantly as he stares down the brothers on the other side. Only one man is behind him; another is swinging idly on the chandelier above, and the last crouches in the corner, a soft glow lighting up periodically as he takes drag after drag from his cigarette.

"You stole from us," the boy says. His voice is delicately smooth, icy, and even. His lips pull up in a cocky smirk, but his blue eyes spark with irritation. "You haven't paid yet, but you still took our stock. That's a big no-no. The Red King isn't happy."

Silence rings after his statement. No one moves. The boy is the only one relaxed enough to snort and give a huge yawn.

"Come on, what do you say, Misters Hugo and Herbert Stabbington?" the boy asks mockingly.

The two figures shift in unison, but they keep their faces blank. They've been trained well.

"We always give you the money after we've retrieved the goods," Hugo says quietly. His voice is a rumble of thunder. "That's how we work, and that's always been fine with you."

"Yes," Jack says, and then he smiles sweetly at them; in the dim room, his face floats white in the darkness, a demented marionette whose mouth has been whittled into a hysterical grin. "But we've decided that we want our payment on the day you take our stock. We've decided that since you didn't do that last time, you are now considered thieves."

Herbert stands up; he's always been the more short-tempered of the twins. "You never warned us. If you had, this misunderstanding would never have happened."

Jack rocks his legs back onto the ground. "But you didn't just _steal _from us," Jack whispers, and suddenly his voice is _fire_, flaming with rage, "you _hurt_ one of our own. You stabbed a knife through one of _our_ people."

"That was an accident," Hugo insisted. He slams his hand down on the table, and it shakes the floor; Jack feels the tremors through the soles of his boots. "We thought she was cops! She shouldn't have come out at us so sudden–"

"You hurt one of _our _people," Jack interrupted. He runs a hand through his white hair, noting absent-mindedly that he needed a cut. He sighs, posture drooping, and then he gets to his feet. "Seriously…"

There's a strange look in his glassy eyes, and the Stabbington brothers share a glance, before they rise up as well. There is no hesitation, and for all intents and purposes, they are confident. But Jack has been trained by the best; he can see the way their muscles tense ever so slightly, the way their hands are slanted towards their guns.

"You have our apologies, on behalf of the Godmother, and ours, her second-in-commands," Hugo says, seeing the fury blaze across the boy's face. Jack is angry; it's not wise to anger him any further.

"That's not enough," Jack responds carelessly, waving a hand. "Consider this a warning."

He jerks his head to his men, and they all head towards the murky glass doors. Only the one hanging off the chandelier remains, and a gleeful smile spreads across his face.

"Do I get to cut them?" he asks excitedly.

"Only a little bit," Jack says without turning around. "Control yourself, Hook Hand. I'll see you back at Headquarters."

Hook Hand whines but nods in resignation and looks over to the Stabbington brothers. The door closes behind Jack and his remaining men.

"So," Hook Hand says conversationally, and there is something off about him. He smells of death, reeks of insanity, and his eyes are wild and his lips are strained into what cannot be called a smile; it's a slash of madness across his face, lighting up his otherwise emotionless eyes with embers of frenzied enjoyment. He raises his left hand, the scarred stump curving into a gleaming bronze hook. "Which two fingers would you guys rather lose?"

* * *

[queen apartment]

"Anna," Elsa says quietly. She leans against the doorway, arms crossed and lips pressed tightly together. "Anna, come on. Don't be like this."

"But _why_?" Anna is a lump on her bed, muffled and quivering with anger. The blinds are halfway pulled up, and sunlight reflects off of a colourful crystal paperweight on the desk. Its light refracts and casts odd rainbows everywhere. Cardboard boxes still left untouched are stacked up against the furthest wall, despite the fact that they had been living in this apartment for close to two years already. "It's not fair!"

"I'm uncomfortable with you going off on a weekend trip with your friends with no adult supervision," Elsa says. She's always been like this, formal, straight to the point, unwilling to skirt around the subject.

"But _all _my friends are going," Anna cries, and she sits up and faces her elder sister. Anna is a month shy of turning eighteen, just grown out of her awkward teenage years, rebellious, face sprinkled with light freckles and strawberry blonde hair tied up in a messy bun. Her fists clench. "Elsa, _please_. I really want to go."

"I know," Elsa says, and she's trying to hide her regret. She's trying so hard. "I'm sorry, Anna, but I can't allow you to."

"_Why_?"

"I just–no. It's not happening."

Anna stares at her wordlessly for a second, and then she jumps up and pushes her sister out of the door.

"Fine," Anna snarls, and she slams the door in her face. Elsa gazes at the painted green wood for a long time, and then she stumbles into the living room and buries her face into a worn cushion and tries very, very hard not to cry.

* * *

Gone to work.  
Will be back at 11.  
Food in the fridge.  
Stay safe. Call if  
emergency.

* * *

Elsa waves goodbye to the last customer of the day, and as soon as they're out of sight, slumps over the till and moans.

"Bad day?" her coworker Rapunzel asks sympathetically. Rapunzel is twenty, a year younger than Elsa. She's got long blonde hair and small, delicate features. She is a happy sort of person, outgoing and always laughing between sentences. She has wings on her feet and the sun in her smile. Elsa finds herself wishing many times that she could be like that, wishing to see the positivity in life, the ability to stop and smell the roses.

They both work part-time at The Red Lily, which is how they met, a Chinese restaurant that is forever busy, serves good food, and, most importantly, pays very well.

"A bit," Elsa croaks out.

"Want to talk?"

Elsa walks slowly over to a cluttered table and begin stacking the dishes and wiping down the grease and oil. It takes her a while to speak, but Rapunzel is patient, and she clears the drinks away as Elsa sorts out her thoughts.

"Anna wants to go on a weekend trip with her friends. At a beach, renting a penthouse," Elsa says finally. "I said no."

"She's your little sister, right?" Rapunzel says, tucking a stray hair behind her ears. "Why not, though?"

Lifting up the tray, Elsa pauses and wonders if it's worth sharing a piece of her life to her coworker. She knows she's secretive, clamming up whenever someone asks about her life and refusing politely when invited out. But she likes to consider Rapunzel as a friend, has done so for the past three years.

"I don't like it when Anna goes off with boys by herself," Elsa confesses quietly, and the admittance slices at her throat, and she's almost unable to choke out her next words. "And also… this trip will cost. I don't have enough money to pay for her."

Rapunzel sets down a glass and touches Elsa's shoulder gently. "Hey," she says, giving her a small smile that's much too bright, and Elsa wants to look away because it's blinding her, "why don't you just explain that to her? She'll understand."

"Yes, she'll understand," Elsa says, "but I can't do that to her. She'll–she'll feel responsible, and she'll feel guilty that she hasn't been helping out. She'll skip things, like parties or outings; she'll probably drop out of school to find a job. And I can't–I can't ruin this for her. I want her to have fun, like a normal teenager."

"That's…" Rapunzel is at a loss, words stuck, wondering at just how selfless a person could be. "But that's unfair for you, too. I mean, how many jobs are you working again?"

"Three," Elsa says, "but we need the money. My university fees aren't going to pay itself."

"Elsa, seriously," Rapunzel says, and she pulls the girl into a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

"Yeah."

Elsa squeezes Rapunzel, and the younger winces and pulls away.

"Sorry," Rapunzel says cheekily, patting her abdomen, "my waist screwed up when I was playing netball. Pushed myself too hard, apparently."

"That completely ruined the moment," Elsa deadpans, and Rapunzel laughs, and Elsa laughs, and for a second everything seems right in the world.

(But then Rapunzel turns and heads off into the kitchen. And Elsa knows, logically, that she's only a few steps away, but now she's alone in the room, surrounded by glaring white tables, and she feels like she's falling and falling and she can't ever stop.)

* * *

Technically, Elsa's shift ends at nine. Technically, she should be home by at least nine-thirty. But it's not ten o'clock. She can't go back home yet.

She and Rapunzel head off to the food district on the east end of the city. It's a short bus ride, made even shorter by the lack of traffic and time of night, and they roam in a maze of stalls selling foods from all over the world.

(Ten o'clock comes, and when the clock strikes, Elsa stiffens and looks up to the sky, chicken kebab temporarily forgotten in her hand, and Rapunzel is too busy stuffing her face in a bowl of noodles to notice.

Tonight, it's a deep, rolling blue. The sort of blue you associate with the depths of the oceans, smudged with inky black. One or two stars manage to fight their way out, the rest burned away by the bright lights of Stella Morta. And the moon, like a silver oyster, hangs suspended right at the very centre of this cosmic canvas.

And then ten o'clock is over, and Elsa lowers her head again to chuckle at a joke Rapunzel has just made.)

Rapunzel has university classes the next day, and so when they've eaten their belly's worth, Rapunzel waves a cheery goodbye and a "be careful on the way back!" and disappears.

(I stand there, drifting just behind Elsa as she lowers her hand. I am close enough to touch her.

I don't.)

It's just hit ten-thirty, but Elsa can't convince herself to leave yet.

"Anna's waiting," Elsa murmurs into the night air, as if saying it out loud will be enough for her to board the next bus home. "Don't make her wait."

Her words are lost, swallowed up by the moon, and no one hears. (No one, except me. But then again, I always do.)

* * *

For a second, all Jack sees is black.

His head is knocked around, cracking dangerously on the brick wall. He stumbles and slides onto the slick concrete, one hand thrown out to catch his fall. Fireworks burst in front of his eyes, and the ground is wavering dizzily. The smell of the alleyway heightens, and he feels himself dry-heave.

His stomach contracts as a well-aimed kick is delivered, and Jack focuses on trying not to puke out his dinner of curry and rice.

"So, little Spirit, looks like you aren't as strong as they say," a voice above him mutters. A rough, callused hand grabs him by the hair and drags him up. Jack opens his eyes blearily to find himself staring into the face of the gang member known as Scar.

STATISTICS

Name: Taka (last name unknown)  
Alias: Scar  
Title: the Betrayer (unofficial)  
Position: King  
Affiliations: the Pride  
Favoured weapons:  
brass knuckles, brass claws

Scar growls, black eyes glinting with sadistic delight. He and Jack had been at each other's necks for years now, ever since Jack had ridiculed him for filing his canines to lethally sharp points at an inter-gang meeting. Huge scabs run across Scar's face, tearing it apart in a conflict of white and pink flesh. His right eye doesn't close properly, the socket cracked and broken too many times to be healthy and too many times to heal completely right.

"Oh?" Jack breathes, giving Scar a smile stained with blood. "So the Betrayer King is out doing the dirty work. How pitiful."

His comment is rewarded by a punch to the jaw.

"You took out one of my own," Scar hisses. "You have to pay."

"What? You mean the ones you call the Hyenas?" Jack says, and he's dancing a terrible dance around the edges of Scar's wrath. "_Ha_! So the mighty Betrayer _cares_! How _sweet_ of you!"

"I'll kill you–"

"Oh."

Both Scar and Jack turn to the entrance of the alleyway. Standing there silhouetted against the glow of life behind her, a girl stands frozen, feet glued to the ground, eyes wide with Fear.

(I drift closer to her. I breathe down her neck.)

"Get out of here," Scar grunts. "Stay out of this, this isn't your place."

(I reach out a hand; I lift it just over the girl's heart. I nudge her. The girl gives a small whimper, and she bolts away.)

* * *

Elsa is walking along a side-street, away from the buzz of the markets, but close enough to be able to shout for help if need be. She's eyeing the alleys warily, always cautious, always on guard (it's taken her years to get to here, to get to the point where she doesn't jump at the slightest sounds and is able to go into dark, isolated places without screaming out in fear).

And then suddenly, a girl is running in her direction, and Elsa barely has time to process that before the girl dashes headfirst into her and knocks her over.

By the time Elsa gets up, the girl is long gone.

"Really?" Elsa yells after her. She picks up her bag and, grumbling, continues on her way.

But then she hears voices. And they're low and guttural, and Elsa knows it's probably gang business. She knows she should just keep on walking. But something makes her turn her head into a shadowed alley and halt completely at what she sees.

* * *

Really, I must commend Elsa for her stupidity. I appear perhaps five seconds after Elsa stops, when the situation catches up with her and I am bidden to come as Fear. I search Elsa's thoughts, lightly sifting through her emotions, to find out exactly why she was afraid. Of course, there's the obvious: two gang members beating each other up, and Elsa being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But there is something more, and it takes me around half a minute, but then I realise that Elsa had been attacked in an alley like this, a long time ago. When the night flowed by like a speeding train, and a man with gold for teeth and clubs for hands smashed her down onto the slimy ground and ripped her skirt aside.

I want to say I'm sorry. I want to express to her that I am sorry that ever happened to her, and that no one should ever deserve something like that. (I witnessed the whole thing; it was terrible to watch, but I was not allowed to look away. I had a job to do.

Sometimes, I hate my job.)

I don't say a word. Talking is against my rules.

* * *

The distraction of yet _another _girl is enough for Scar's hold on him to loosen. Jack uses this to his advantage, crashing his elbow into Scar's nose. Scar howls and lets go automatically, and Jack clumsily kicks at his knees and then gets up and _sprints_.

He pulls the girl by the arm, yanking her away from an extremely furious Scar because he'd feel bad if he finds the girl dead on the front of a newspaper the following morning just because Scar is feeling particularly murderous.

"Move faster!" he hollers behind his shoulder; the girl is panting already.

They lose Scar in the market crowds, and Jack and the girl huddle down next to a stall as they catch their breath. Jack's vision is swimming, and he's trying to figure out if he has a concussion or not.

The girl is shaking, Jack sees. She has white hair that spills over her back and ends at her elbows, most of it falling out of her loose ponytail. Her eyes are large twin pools of blue, framed by thick lashes, and she's wearing an employee button-down shirt that reads THE RED LILY in curling crimson stitching at the breast pocket.

"You–" the girl wheezes, and she staggers upwards. "I–leave–you–away."

"Hey, wait," Jack calls after her; she's already stumbling off in the opposite direction.

"What?" the girl snaps, rounding on him. Her face is flushed red.

"Some help?" Jack asks, spreading his arms. He knows he looks like a mess, and he doesn't want to go back to Headquarters because Bunnymund is never going to let him live this down.

The girl gapes at him disbelievingly. "Go to a hospital! Leave me alone!"

Jack sets his jaw. Using the last bit of his effort, and he hurries over and blocks her path. "I wasn't asking," he says almost inaudibly. His voice has changed, and there's a dark outline in his eyes. The girl steps back, hands quivering.

And then she turns around and flees. Jack stares after her for a moment.

"Fuck."

* * *

It's eleven-fifteen, and Elsa slides down the door she has just locked, dragging a hand down her face as she tries to calm her jumping heart.

"Elsa?" Anna's footsteps are growing louder, and she gasps when she sees Elsa lying against their front door. "Oh my god, are you okay?"

Anna had been planning on giving her sister the silent treatment, but that is forgotten when she panics because she'd thought Elsa had had a stroke or something.

"I'm fine," Elsa says tiredly, forcing herself up, "really. I just had a really long night."

There's a knock on the door, and Elsa groans and turns around and opens the door a crack. "Who is–?"

The boy from the alleyway is collapsed in the hallway, and even as she opens, he sways forward and rests heavily on her. Her knees buckle under his weight, and she's a hair's breadth away from shoving him off.

"Seriously," the boy mumbles into her shirt, face pressed against her neck, "you were hard to follow. Almost lost you a few times. Really… need help."

And then he passes out, and Elsa gawks at Anna, who gawks back, and both sisters try exceptionally hard not to scream.

* * *

author's note:

i feel like this chapter wasn't as impressive as chapter one? i'm sorry ;A;

so you can see here that gangs are extremely hypocritical. the bonds between members is stronger than blood. they have no problem hurting other people, but when one of _their own _is hurt, they are furious and they'll settle the score any way they can, as shown by jack and scar respectively.

idk i think all gang members are all some sort of crazy. even jack. and especially hook hand. he's batshit psychotic. i based hook hand's personality off gluttony's from _fullmetal alchemist_.

also, sisterly feels. i sense lack of communication there.

finally, thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback from last chapter. it's really reassured me, and i love you guys seriously ;A;

updated: 17 february 2014


	3. Bleed

**inspired by:** exo fanfiction _bluff _by twoglances which can be found on livejournal. wow i freaking have so many inspirations for this story.

**rating:** t for language.

**warning:** none of great importance.

**notes:** i've changed the ages of elsa, anna, jack, and rapunzel. originally, elsa and jack are 18, anna is 15, and rapunzel is 17. now, elsa and jack are 21, anna is a month away from turning 18, and rapunzel is 20. apologies for the confusion!

also, i don't study medicine, so whatever happens, i got it off the internet and like my visits to the doctor lol.

a lot of random disney characters will be appearing throughout the story, so dig deep into the depths of your brain and figure out where they come from. i use both main characters and minor, so even if you think that there are OCs, there aren't. you just haven't paid attention to the actual film (or you've forgotten haha) ;D

**cameos:** li shang from _mulan_ and scar from _the lion king_, mentioned in passing (will also probably become part of the minor cast); hyenas from _the lion king_, mentioned in passing (members from scar's gang); **important:** doctor facilier from _the princess and the frog_ (will become part of permanent cast).

**chapter three: **bleed

* * *

Apartment number: 9B  
Residents: 2  
Name(s): Elsa Queen, Anna Queen  
Special notes: they have an  
unconscious boy in their doorway,  
and he is bleeding.

* * *

(The ticking clock cracks through the air.)

The boy lies on the ground like a beached whale, cold and wounded, thrown there haphazardly by a panicking girl of twenty-one. He's out of place in this sterile household. He's a smear on the wall, a pin not quite pressed in on an otherwise perfectly tacked board. The boy, in his wet black jeans, in his ripped shirt that is speckled with dirt, in the bruises that surround his jaw and the blood that trickles from his teeth, he is an anomaly in an otherwise complete linear graph.

And Elsa wants him gone, wants him to disappear from her home. He is an accidental blotch of green paint right in the middle of a flawless painting of the scarlet sunrise. He is a mistake.

"Anna, call the police," Elsa finds herself murmuring through numb lips. Anna nods, a robot obeying a simple command. Elsa stares at the boy some more, as if burning a hole into his face would make him vanish.

* * *

(This is strange of me to say, but one of my favourite past times is watching humans panic. It's hugely entertaining, the way their eyes grow to the size of golf balls, the way their mouths open in a shriek, and way their hearts thud soundly in their chests. But I suppose in my line of work, this is the only way I can see humans at a length of time when they are not cowering with terror. Panic is a reaction that borders between fear, which is why I come, and shock. I barely see humans in anything other than in a state of loneliness and distress, and while I cannot say it becomes boring, it gets rather tedious at times.

So perhaps this is why I find myself not minding the visit so much this time. Elsa, it seems, is panicking, and I settle myself on their couch while she tries to make sense of the situation.)

After a lifetime, Elsa rouses herself, and she rises, stumbling to her room and returning with a skipping rope and the cord of a dressing gown. She ties the boy's hands and feet clumsily, while Anna taps her fingers impatiently as she waits for a response on the other end.

But this is Stella Morta, and it's city that is rotten on the inside as well as the outside. It is no surprise that it takes almost a minute for her call to be picked up by the emergency department.

Anna rattles off the details, and the woman on the line assures her that people will be on their way.

"They say ten minutes," Anna relays quietly, "but there's no guarantee, Elsa."

"I know," Elsa whispers distractedly. Anna comes over and places a soothing hand on her sister's shoulder.

"It'll be okay," Anna says. She then bends over the boy, and in two smooth movements, reties the bindings on him into perfect knots. Elsa is too upset to question where she learned to do it so well.

Elsa's phone rings startlingly loud, and she jumps while Anna merely looks up in surprise.

* * *

"Elsa! Hey, it's Rapunzel. I'm just checking if you got home safely ahahaha!"

"Rapunzel."

"Hey, what's wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need help?"

"Rapunzel. There's a boy in my apartment and he's unconscious and I think he's bleeding–"

"_What_? Shit, are you okay? What does he look like?"

"I'm fine. He's got white hair and he's my age and oh my god _Rapunzel he followed me home and he's bleeding what do I do_–"

"Have you called the police?"

"Y-yeah, but I don't know if they'll come because the police in this city is _shit _and if they don't come what am I supposed to do I can't just leave him here–"

"I'll be there in five minutes."

* * *

It takes Rapunzel six minutes, but she's faster than the police. While they wait, Elsa and Anna simply stare at each other, and oddly enough, it is Anna who is calm while Elsa tries not to hyperventilate.

Everything is silent, and only Elsa's frantic breaths puncture the air. Neither of them think about turning on the lights, so the room is coated in a silky sort of darkness, and there is just enough light from the moon and the city to see the boy and the red that surrounds him.

The ticking clocks cracks through the air.

Rapunzel arrives, and she's panting, blonde hair in disarray, but Elsa almost faints from relief. She takes one look at the boy, and then drops to the ground and checks his pulse and then his entire body.

"Rapunzel," Elsa says, as if saying her name will make the situation better.

"He's got a knife sticking out from his arm," Rapunzel says, slightly breathless, and points to the almost-hidden injury within the folds of his long coat. "Elsa, do you think you can help him?"

"But–"

"Elsa, the police probably won't come, and if they do they'll take hours. They have better things to do than arrest a petty gang member while banks are being robbed on the other side of the city and fucking gunmen keep opening fire at will."

"I–I'm only a medical _student_, not an official practitioner. My practical work–I'm not–"

"Just check him over, make sure there's nothing life-threatening," Rapunzel cuts in gently. Her green eyes shine bright in the dim light. She fiddles with the knots, and says, "Okay, I've made extra sure the ropes are tight. If he wakes up and attacks, it won't be very successful."

Elsa takes a deep breath. "Anna, go to your room. _Please_."

There is a moment's hesitation, and then Anna cocks her head and walks away, closing the door gently behind her, but not before casting one last glance at the boy.

Elsa doesn't know why she agrees, but there's a small part of her that is relieved for something to do. The silent waiting is driving her crazy, and she finds herself hurrying over to the cabinet and taking down the first-aid kit before her mind can catch up with her.

"I think it's best if we leave the knife in there until we have professional help," Elsa mutters. With a quick finger, she lifts up each of the boy's eyelids one at a time and shines a small torch into his pupils. "Slight concussion; he should get checked up later."

She carefully opens the boy's coat, making sure to not jostle the blade too much, and lifts his shirt up. There are bruises budding like ugly flowers across his chest, but after a few presses, confirms that no ribs are broken. She lifts the shirt up higher, and then gasps. Beside her, Rapunzel stiffens.

"Red Crown," Elsa chokes. Her gaze is trained on the tattoo, clear and bold, the King of Hearts staring back at her with black eyes. The roman number for three is inked on the right. "Oh my god, I have a Red Crown in my apartment. And he's _third-in-command_."

Her voice is unable to go above a whisper.

"Elsa," Rapunzel hisses, "Elsa, calm down. Stay quiet; don't let Anna hear. Just–_breathe_."

Trying to let go of the breath she's holding, Elsa gulps and drops the shirt.

"Okay, okay," Elsa whimpers. "Okay, I'll just–okay."

"Just think of him as a patient. He's just a patient, just a regular guy," Rapunzel intones. "You're fine, alright?"

"Okay."

Taking another breath, Elsa reaches out shaking fingers and gently turns his head this way and that.

"Anything bad?" Rapunzel asks.

"His face has taken a beating, but the damages will heal with time," Elsa says, forcing her voice to stay even. "For a fight, he's walked out pretty well, actually."

Rapunzel chuckles hollowly.

"You'll make a great doctor," she says softly.

* * *

Elsa packs the medical kit up, and she walks slowly back into the kitchen, head reeling.

Because there's a Red Crown in her apartment.

And he is third-in-command.

But she barely as time to process anything before there is a cry from the doorway, and Elsa drops the medical kit and rushes back, only to find Rapunzel wheezing and clutching her stomach. Red is blooming across her shirt, and the boy is gone.

"What happened?" Elsa croaks, and she can't move. She can't move, because Rapunzel is bleeding and _she's not supposed to be bleeding_.

"He woke up," Rapunzel gasps, "and he got free."

There is a knife lying near her, the one from the boy's arm, and it blinks up at Elsa innocently, silver glinting dully. It's bloody, and Rapunzel is bleeding.

Rapunzel is bleeding.

Elsa runs forward and she holds a hand to Rapunzel's wound, and she's unsure of what's going on because the world is spinning and someone keeps saying, "Oh my god oh my god oh my god," but she doesn't know who it is until Rapunzel shushes her.

Elsa isn't aware that she's crying until the tears drip down, and Rapunzel is shockingly unruffled and says, "It's fine, it's shallow, just do what you always do, okay? Pretend this is just a practical test. You're fine, Elsa."

(I rest a hand lightly on Elsa's forehead. At Rapunzel's words, I withdraw.

Elsa is getting braver, quite different from the terrified little girl she used to be.)

* * *

It's midnight, and Stella Morta is alive. It's midnight, and in Apartment Block Alpha, room 9B, a girl named Elsa Queen saves the life of her friend, Rapunzel Corona who was stabbed by a Red Crown gang member.

(Anna Queen stays in her room. Anna Queen is unaware.)

"I need to go," Rapunzel says, and she hobbles up and heads to the door.

"Don't be crazy," Elsa snaps. "You just got stabbed, you need to go to the hospital to get it checked. Come on, I'll drive you–"

"I have faith in your abilities," Rapunzel winks. And then, a shadow veils her face when she sees Elsa open her mouth again. "No, seriously, Elsa. I need to go home. I'm not supposed to be out, please, just let me go home, okay? I'll be fine."

"The wound needs to be looked after properly," Elsa says firmly. "It might get infected, and I think it needs stitches."

"Elsa," Rapunzel says, and there is steel in her voice and ice in her eyes. "Let me go home."

The ticking clock cracks through the air.

"Let me drive you, at least," Elsa says finally. Rapunzel nods once.

* * *

It's quiet in the car, and Elsa's mind is strangely clear. Anna sits in the back seat; Elsa refused to leave her alone in the apartment, and Rapunzel is holding a hand absent-mindedly against her stomach as she sits shotgun.

"I don't have the money to pay the medical bills," Rapunzel says, and her voice splinters the silence as loud as a whip. "Going to the hospital would be useless."

And suddenly, as Elsa peeks at her friend out of the corner of her eyes, Rapunzel isn't quite so cheerful anymore; the wings on her feet have withered away, the sun in her smile gone behind a cloud. Suddenly, Rapunzel is small and young and frail, a girl wearing clothes ten times too big for her, trying to fill in the shoes of a giant. Suddenly, Elsa wants to cry; she wants to clutch the wheel and steer them off a cliff, because what kind of life are they leading, in a city that's lifeless and alive at the same time? A city that cares for nothing, buildings grey and empty and bustling with people who are only concerned with their own bubble, their own world. What the fuck are they supposed to do?

(You survive and live to tell the tale, that's what.)

* * *

Side note:  
the police never come.

* * *

In the north side of Stella Morta, there's a high-class club and bar that serves as the meeting spot for notorious gang members. Called The Crimson Rose, it opens throughout the night, seven days a week, and its patrons range from dirty bounty hunters looking for prey, to gentlemen and ladies looking for a good time and good alcohol.

At one in the morning, a rag-tag boy of twenty-one stumbles to The Crimson Rose's back door, and groans as the heady bass vibrates through his shoes. He stomps up the stairs, ignoring the mass of seething bodies on the dance floor, and then knocks heavily on a door hidden away behind the turn of a corridor titled VIP MEMBERS ONLY.

* * *

"Jack," someone gasps, and Jack's vision is blurring. He swallows back the vomit that threatens to tear up his throat, and when cool arms take on his weight, he all but flops down like a limp fish out of water. He feels himself getting lowered onto the couch, and he splutters something incoherent at the ceiling.

Toothiana's face swims into view, purple eyes blinking worriedly at him as she slaps him awake. "Jack, don't pass out. Jack, come on, don't go to sleep."

"What the fuck happened to you, mate?" laughs a familiar voice. Bunnymund bends over him, vodka bottle in one hand and a stack of cards in the other, chortling happily as if his friend isn't about to die from exhaustion.

"Walked all the way here from the east end," Jack blubbers. "Fucking… got stabbed. Fucking Scar…"

"_Scar_?" Toothiana hisses, and she pauses while checking his arm. "That bastard; one of his Hyenas tried to get Li Shang a few hours ago; ambushed him just as he left the restaurant."

"Heh…" Jack chuckles, and he feels blood coating his tongue, "we're Crowns. The fucking Pride's got nothing on us."

He _feels _Toothiana roll her eyes. "I forgot he becomes an arrogant prick when he's delirious."

"He's an arrogant prick all the time, though," Bunnymund disagrees.

"Not _all _the time… most of the time."

"No way, all the time."

"Half the time?"

"Guys," Jack interrupts, and black spots are growing in his vision. "Like, dying here?"

"Oh, sorry, Jack," Toothiana chirps, and Jack huffs slightly, spitting out blood.

* * *

Every gang has a rival. It's almost an unwritten rule, an unspoken command. I suppose that this is the nature of humans, really. They always find a reason to fight each other, to prove dominion over their fellow man.

Because for some reason, humans have a strange attraction to blood. Some bathe in it, lick it off their blades, eyes alight with fevered excitement. Others recoil, disgusted and appalled.

(But no matter how much you claim to love someone, when their blood touches your toes, you always back away. How horrifically weak of you.)

Let me introduce to you Ange Noir, a gang of twenty-odd persons of varying ages. Their King is a rumoured past witch doctor named Facilier. They are the second most powerful gang after the Red Crowns, but only by a little. There are many smaller gangs under them, and they run the east side of the city.

Their second-in-command is a man named Hans Öman, and he wants the position of King.

* * *

author's note:

bunny and tooth have arrived rather anti-climatically. and hello there, hans.

the southern isles are apparently supposed to be near either denmark or sweden, and I chose swedan to be hans' familial origins, just because. öman is a swedish last name meaning 'man from the island'. this is not just a reference to his character in the movie, but also his entire role in this story.

ange noir is french for black angel, because doctor facilier is supposed to have french origins and he's their king. and black angel because like opposite of white and it's like fallen angel and devil and representing their motives and their role and idk.

the number 9 is considered lucky in norway (according to an internet source; please shoot me down if i'm wrong), hence elsa and anna's apartment is on level 9. i chose 9B because b is the second letter in the alphabet and there are two of them. aha.

this chapter is all like 'WHY CRUEL WORLD?!' and while i find it necessary to delve into it, especially considering the city and life the characters had growing up, another part of me wants to cringe and laugh at how embarrassingly clichéd i'm being lol.

okay i really do have an explanation for everything that goes on in here. really, i do, but you'll have to wait. also, **DumbAsTheyCome**, i am super sorry for the general confusion that went on with last chapter and our following conversation. hopefully this chapter is clearer ahahaha or not i have a feeling this chapter is like a mess of 'what the fuck's, which is the point.

thank you for all your support so far :)

updated: 22 February 2014


	4. Liar

**inspired by:** idk.

**rating:** t for language.

**warning:** plot reveals ehurhurhur.

**notes:** none.

**cameos: **hermes from _hercules_; aphrodite from _hercules _(mentioned in passing); huns and shan yu from _mulan_ (mentioned in passing).

**chapter four:** liar

* * *

There is a quote from a man named Andre Berthiaume that for some reason, I always remember. He said, "We all wear masks, and the time comes when we cannot remove them without removing some of our own skin."

I suppose it's stuck with me, because I understand the concept of masks better than anything. I am Loneliness, and the people I visit all cower behind masks of strength and security and joy.

It's an unpleasant thing, and sometimes I wonder why, because ultimately, you're just lying to yourself. Why do you try to hide me, when I will always lurk just beneath the surface? I am Loneliness, and I never leave humans alone. As long as the human consciousness exists, I will be there.

Don't wear the masks, you liar. Don't pretend to be happy when you're not, you liar. Why are you fantasizing to be anything but yourself? Why are you trying to be happy just to make someone else happy? It's useless, in the end, because you are alone in your life, and ultimately, you will die very much alone.

* * *

Hans Öman is twenty-two years old, a member of Ange Noir, and he is dating Anna Queen.

(I can see your faces at this moment. I know how this story will end, you are thinking. How boring, you are thinking.

Well, I am here to tell you that you are wrong. Don't let your preconceptions cloud your judgment. Don't be like all the other fools who underestimated Hans Öman, and don't ridicule _me_.

I am an excellent storyteller.)

I want to talk about Hans for a minute, because he is a noteworthy fellow. He, for one, is a brilliant actor. He worms his way into Ange Noir quite late, in fact, when he is twenty-one. That was three years ago. Now, at twenty-four, he's somehow impressed the King so much that he's promoted to second-in-command in the space of three years when it usually takes at least five to even have a high-ranking position within a gang.

Hans is a prodigy, his skills of strategy near unparalleled for his age and occupation. And he interests me, because with his level of intelligence, he could be anything he chooses to be, but instead he walks down the path of a criminal.

He's the chick of a cuckoo bird, dropped into a foreign nest to leech off the care of the host mother bird.

(And one day, when he fully emerges from his egg, he will kill off his other hatchlings, and survive as the victor.)

* * *

[queen apartment]

"Anna, where are you going?" Elsa asks suspiciously. "It's six o'clock at night."

Anna stands before her, dressed in a short red dress and eleven-centimetre heels. She has let her hair down, and there is a scowl on her face.

"Clubbing," Anna says brusquely.

"You're not eighteen yet," Elsa says blandly.

"I will be in a month," Anna snaps, flicking some hair over her shoulder. "Elsa, I need to go or I'll be late."

Elsa crosses her arms and stands in front of the door. "Anna."

Something dark crosses across Anna's face. It's fleeting, gone the next second, but Elsa sees it. And it scares her.

"Anna, please. I don't like it when you're by yourself at night. And wearing stuff like this. What if you get attacked?" Elsa is almost begging, but Anna's expression doesn't change.

"You always go out at night," Anna says quietly, and her nails dig into the fabric of her clutch. "Always. And you leave me alone in this apartment till almost midnight. Don't be a hypocrite."

Elsa has no argument against that. "Hasn't what happened last night scared you? What if he comes back?"

"He won't," Anna says simply.

"But you're not even eighteen, you're not officially an adult yet. Don't go around doing illegal things–"

Anna barks a laugh, and it's harsh and cold and notAnna, not her sibling, it's unrecognisable. "Open your eyes; I grew up a long time ago, Elsa."

She spits out her sister's name like an insult, and she pushes past Elsa and slams the door on her way out.

Elsa is left alone, and shadows are dancing on her skin, waltzing along to the dull thud of her heart.

She sinks to the ground, but she doesn't cry. Her eyes are dry, but her throat burns with something hot and excruciating. She curls there, leaning against a wall that presses back, white and, under the dull kitchen lights, the apartment seems to close, drawing together as if Anna's departure had pulled the drawstrings around her.

She's fucked up.

Because she _knows _she's a hypocrite, and she knows she's a terrible sister, she knows that she's left Anna all by herself in this apartment almost every night, leaving her vulnerable to the demons that lurk in the corners and cackle in the darkness. But she's so, so, selfish, so unable to even go near Anna, because she's afraid that she will taint her, so afraid that Anna will look into her eyes and see something broken and ugly and useless inside.

And she can't let Anna see, so she pushes her away and closes herself off. And now Anna is angry, and Elsa knows that it's her fault.

Tonight, it is Elsa who sits at the dinner table, staying past twelve in the morning, waiting for the door to open and for her sister to come home.

* * *

Moonlight presses gently into the folds of the pavement, shining through the cracks and illuminating two dark figures that stand in the cool embrace of night right outside of a club. The street is bustling with people, mostly drunk, and their presence goes unnoticed.

"So I hear you and Miss Anna Queen are dating," one says slyly. He taps on his ebony cane, fingers resting on the twin snakes that encircle themselves. "Since when did the almighty Hans decide he was good enough to commit himself?"

"Shut up, Hermes," Hans says, giving him a long-suffering sigh. "It's casual; Anna is fine with it, and I'm fine with it, so shut your mouth."

Hermes gives him a mock shove. "Easy there, Hans. It's not like I'm going to go off and tell the Crowns, you know."

Hans gives him a narrow-eyed glare. "Sometimes, I really don't know where your loyalties lie. You fucking blabber everything to everyone without an regard for us."

"Well, they didn't give me the title of Hermes for nothing," the older man snorts. "It's my job to deliver information. And anyway, I'm careful. I don't reveal things that aren't beneficial to us. Count your lucky stars that Aphrodite hasn't found out yet; your relationship will be all over the news by the time she's done with it."

Both men pause when two giggling girls stumble past. When they're gone, Hans exhales and says irritably, "Why did you call me out here, Hermes, if not to grill me about my love life?"

"Nothing," Hermes trills. Hans doesn't believe him. "Anyway, did you hear of the gun fight in one of our brothels? A couple of girls got hurt. Apparently one of the clients brought it in and got pissed when a girl got rebellious. I think his name was Weselton?"

Hans scoffs. "He's dead."

"Nah, they're not going to kill him," Hermes says carelessly, "at most, he'll lose a hand or something." The man pauses and snickers. "Or maybe his dick."

"The King isn't going to be happy," Hans murmurs. "We're going to have to draw some funds for their medical bills."

"Those girls are lucky we even care," Hermes sniffs. "Any other gang would leave them there to help themselves."

"That's because it'll be a bigger loss replacing them if any of them die from the wounds," Hans says methodically.

There's a figure walking briskly through the club-goers, and she catches Hans' eye as she expertly dodged a drunken man and squeezed past a group of rowdy boys. Her head is pulled down low, chin almost touching her chest, the picture of the timid, scared, and out-of-place girl. But Hans sees the way she effortlessly ducks towards the least hostile of people, the way she seems to pick the dimmest spots to go into, keeping her hidden and low profile.

"Hey, I know her," Hermes says, noticing the direction of Hans' gaze. "Hey, Rapunzel!"

The girl's head jerks up, and Hans notes that her hand twitches into the folds of her black trench coat. However, when she sees who it is, her face relaxes, though her lips remain hard.

"Rover!" Rapunzel says, and Hans almost chokes on his spit.

"Rover?" Hans hisses out through the side of his mouth as Rapunzel comes closer.

Hermes shrugs cheerfully and says, "She's a civilian. Shut up."

"But–Rover?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Hello," Rapunzel says, and closer up she is actually quite young, perhaps only twenty or so. Her eyes are emerald orbs, and there is a strange fire within them. And suddenly, as he replays everything he's observed about her in the last minute, Hans _sees_.

"Hi," Hans says, and he makes sure his voice is friendly and whisked with sugar. "I'm Hans."

"Rapunzel," the girl says. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, seemingly uncomfortable. "Listen, Rover, it's nice to see you and all, but I need to go. It's late."

"Ah," Hermes says with a little smirk of understanding. "Your boyfriend isn't going to be happy."

Balling her fists, Rapunzel becomes defensive. "Shut it, Rover. He's just protective."

"He's abusive," Hermes says plainly. "You have _all _the signs, Rapunzel. Stop denying it."

"You don't know him like I do," Rapunzel says, and she draws herself to her full height.

"Well, I know that he's the biggest fucking dick I've ever had the displeasure of meeting, and that you deserve way better," Hermes says, shuddering visibly.

Hans clears his throat, and Rapunzel colours, forgetting that he is there. With a huff and a sharp nod, Rapunzel spins on her heel and stalks away.

"You were embarrassing her," Hans mutters.

"I've known her for a few years," Hermes says, and his voice is suddenly very small. "It kind of annoys me to see her being treated so badly."

"It's not like you can talk," Hans says, raising an eyebrow. "She thinks your name is Rover."

"It's not like I can let her call me Hermes," the other snaps.

"But it's not like Rover is your real name anyway," Hans counters, but he's absent-minded, following Rapunzel's retreating figure.

* * *

Rapunzel can feel eyes on her.

(She doesn't mean me, though. No one can see me. For all intents and purposes, I am nothing.)

She's hurrying along a narrow street, and she keeps a tight hold on the penknife she keeps in her pocket. It's late, and she's late, and he won't be happy.

Her stomach twinges, warning her to decrease her speed. Rapunzel gulps in breaths of cold air, the muscles in her belly crying out as the wound, not even close to being fully healed, aches again.

Rapunzel curses her unlucky circumstances, but it's not like she's ever been truly lucky. Born into the world with drug-abusing parents, it's a miracle she's escaped her youth physically unscathed, and she left as soon as she turned eighteen, packing up a small bag of clothes and a jar of memories, and she walks out and never looks back.

(But there is a gash deep in her soul, a tear that boils black and bubbles with something like rage and grief and regret. But it's arcane and hidden; no one is allowed to know except her. No one is allowed to _see _except her, when she buries her face into a smelly pillow and her thoughts wander like dandelion seeds in harsh wind.)

The streets soon give way to known roads and shops. The north sector of Stella Morta is run by the Red Crowns, and it's infamous for its drug-dealers and warehouses at the edge filled with illegal weaponry. Business is excellent, as expected of a city like this.

Rapunzel heads straight to a small, run-down motel at the end of a street. Its neon lights feebly flash out THE SNUGGLY DUCKLING, coughing out red and green and white. It is only two storeys, with too-low ceilings and a balcony that quivers and creaks like old bones. Inside, the carpet is the skin of a wrinkly orange, and the air is alive with dust motes that swirl and churn in tiny tornados.

On the first floor, second door to the right, there's a door that has a chip in the wood, right next to the handle. It stands alone; all other doors are on the left hand side, a solitary opening in the vast stretch of wall that seems to go on and on like a faded blue wave.

With one slender hand, Rapunzel twists the knob and opens it. A breeze sings out, smelling of something cool and salty.

"You're late," a voice rings out.

"I'm sorry," Rapunzel says, and she closes the door behind her.

* * *

It's been two days since Anna went clubbing, and yet the atmosphere between the two sisters is still frigid. They could barely manage to stay in the same room as each other before one excused herself to do something else. Elsa doesn't know how to fix it. Logically, of course, she would apologise, but something holds her back, clogs her throat whenever she tries to open her mouth.

Elsa doesn't want to admit it, but deep down, she doesn't _want _to apologise. Anna doesn't understand, has never _understood_. Elsa has sacrificed her childhood to give Anna something better. Their parents had died when Anna was nine (almost ten); she misses them, but doesn't remember much of them. Elsa, as eldest, was left to shoulder the burden, to be the head of the household of two.

The pair had never really struggled, though. Gerda (kind, kind, generous Gerda) had been willing to lend them a hand until Elsa turned eighteen. So Anna was free to run around and play games and princesses, while Elsa, at the tender age of thirteen, was busy planning for a future that would come in five short years.

So as a stress reliever, Elsa took to the streets at night, leaving Anna by herself in an house that's too big and too empty and too sterile, but she can't bring herself to go back before at least eight o'clock.

And then That Night happened, and everything was set back. Elsa lost her words, and she was left alone to struggle through the pain. Always _alone_.

(Anna was free. She was free and happy and _blind_.)

Elsa took on her first job at fifteen. At seventeen, she had two. On her eighteenth birthday, Elsa and Anna moved out of the house that contained too many memories, and they shuffled into a little apartment in the middle of Stella Morta. Gerda (lovely, lovely, big-hearted Gerda) helped pay half of Elsa's university fees. Even so, it wasn't enough. Halfway through her eighteenth year, Elsa was working three jobs.

And again, Elsa finds that ambling through the nightlife calms her nerves, but this time, she won't return until a certain time.

Ten o'clock, for Elsa, is a barrier.

But with all these things going on, Anna has never noticed, never cared. She spends her days sleeping through classes and partying in the night. And Elsa, who lost her teenage years to hours of scrubbing dishes and scanning overpriced supermarket items and serving grumpy customers, is jealous of Anna's life. And the fact that Anna unknowingly rubs it in her face almost every day has caused a small ball of hard, cold jealousy to form in the pit of her stomach. Because here she is, overworked and exhausted and smelling like grease, while Anna flounces home in the pretty dresses and sparkly heels and fresh makeup.

It's unfair, Elsa wants to scream.

And she's so conflicted, because sometimes she wants to fling her apron into Anna's face and tell her to start lifting her weight. But then, the momentary rage she feels disappears, and she's ashamed that she'd ever thought something like that, because she's doing all this now so Anna could have a better future and not suffer like she did.

Her love for Anna always overpowers that tiny, ugly, envious part of her, so she keeps her mouth shut and works on in silence.

(Her love is overpowering, that is true. But you can't lie and say the jealousy isn't there. It is, and it always will be, a monster with teeth of pain and claws of poison.)

"Anna," Elsa says quietly, suddenly, but the younger girl has already left the room. She sighs.

* * *

It's nine-thirty at The Red Lily, and Elsa and Rapunzel have stayed overtime to clean up a particularly messy banquet that had started at six. The roaring patrons had just left, and Elsa and Rapunzel stare at the warzone for a few minutes before they grudgingly move into action.

"Wait, no, I'll do that," Elsa says, and she quickly takes the stack of plates off Rapunzel. "You shouldn't strain yourself or your injury will take longer to heal. And it'll hurt."

Rapunzel laughs, and Elsa isn't sure, but it sounds flat and a little bit sad. "It's fine, Elsa."

The younger girl looks tired today, deep purple hanging from her eyes. Her blonde hair, usually glowing and beautifully braided, is dull and tied up in a harried ponytail. Her frame bends, as if chained balls weigh it down. She's released her top two buttons, and the restaurant's uniform, usually always crisp and neat, droops off of her like clothes on a line.

"Are you alright?" Elsa asks softly.

"Yeah." Rapunzel gives her a smile that does nothing but lift the corners of her mouth.

They work quietly after that, and just as Elsa is wrapping up the tablecloths and taking it to the back, the kitchen door swings open just shy of Elsa's nose, and Li Shang the head chef pokes his head out. Elsa likes him; Li Shang is friendly and open, and always gives her free food to take home after her shift.

But now, the Chinese man's eyes are wide, and he completely ignores Elsa as he searches frantically for Rapunzel. It seemed like he was in the middle of changing; his white chef's shirt is unbuttoned to reveal a black wife beater and numerous tattoos underneath. At such a close distance, Elsa finds herself staring at the smooth expanse of muscle on show. But that's not what caught her attention. Her eyes are trained on his left collarbone, because it's unmistakable, and Elsa feels her breath hitch in her throat.

"Red Crown," she whispers. The King of Hearts seems to laugh at her at his place on Li Shang's skin.

Li Shang doesn't hear her though. He's shouting at Rapunzel, who's frozen like a block of ice.

"Rapunzel, they're here," Li Shang snarls. He's a blur, striding over to her and pulling her towards the kitchen in a grip that's impossible to escape. "Cops, Rapunzel! Fucking cops! The Tooth Fairy just called in; they're after you! They've found you, and you gotta run!"

Rapunzel gapes at him for a second longer, and then she springs into action.

"I'll go to the safe house in the west end," Rapunzel says, picking up her bag from under the counter and slinging it over her shoulder. "Tell the higher-ups that, okay?"

Li Shang nods once, curt and short.

"Give me a call when this dies down," Rapunzel adds. "I hate the west safe house; it smells like sweat and sex."

"Wait," Elsa interrupts, and she's terribly confused and lost and bewildered. "Wait, Rapunzel, what's going on? I don't understand–"

"I'm sorry, Elsa," Rapunzel says, and she's talking quickly but she looks at Elsa directly, and Elsa sees a sliver of remorse in the depths of green. "I'm sorry I had to lie, and that this is how you found out."

There's a sinking feeling in her gut, and Elsa is beginning to stick together the puzzle. She's beginning to realise, but she refuses to entertain the notion that Rapunzel is anything but who she said she was.

Because it can't be. Rapunzel _can't be_.

Rapunzel's bag drags her shirt partially open. And Elsa sees, for the second time that night, the King of Hearts peeking out from underneath a jutting shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry," Rapunzel repeats, and she knows that Elsa knows.

There's a sweet, perfumed hug, and then Rapunzel vanishes through the back door in a flurry of gold.

Seconds later, police cars pull up at the front.

* * *

author's note:

(this a/n is super long and i'm sorry but some explanations are needed for this chapter's contents.)

[tl;dr: rapunzel is an actress who deserves an oscar; my hints suck; loneliness is fucked up; more details; elsa and anna's relationship is a reflection of the movie; elsa is human; jack and elsa won't meet till ch. 6 really sorry.]

well idk what happened there. kidding, i do.

did you even suspect rapunzel wasn't who she said she was? i did hint at some things ever since i first introduced her, which you guys probably didn't pick up and which i will go into detail later on. and li shang: he oversaw jack's initiation in ch. 2, and tooth said that a hyena tried to ambush him _just as he left the restaurant_ in ch. 3. the restaurant. the only restaurant here is the red lily… okay i have a feeling my hints were really bad.

loneliness is a narrator who has many different facets to his character. there are some reasons why this is so, which will be revealed later. here, at the beginning, he's quite vindictive, unlike his usual neutral self. also, i apologise for giving loneliness a gender, but it's extremely hard to remain gender-neutral, especially when i need to refer to him. however, if you want to think of loneliness as female or androgynous, feel free to do so.

rover means traveler, an allusion to hermes' role as messenger and god of travels.

elsa is not like the sibling in stories where CHARACTER IS THE PERFECT OLDER SIBLING AND SACRIFICES _EVERYTHING_ FOR YOUNGER SIBLING AND CRIES DRAMATICALLY ALL BY HERSELF IN A BATHROOM UNTIL LOVE INTEREST ENTERS because i find that unrealistic. elsa is her own person, and she's at the age where she wants to do things for herself now, but she still has to take care of anna and she's a bit angry about that. also, anna is also not as clueless as you might believe, so wait for her side of the story before you judge her completely.

i'm sorry that it's taking so long for jack and elsa to actually like meet officially. but idk this story has to be slow (soi'vedecidedtobe_really_fuckingslow) and those two probably won't meet until ch. 6 or something.

omfg this a/n was like 500 words long i'm so sorry to the people who actually read it.

but haha rapunzel. you guys were all JACK YOU DICK HOW COULD YOU HURT HER but then this happened.

updated: 27 february 2014


	5. The Assemblea

**inspired by:** uhhhhhhhh–

**rating:** still t.

**warning:** none of great importance, except for another plot reveal.

**notes:** assemblea = italian for 'assembly'. this chapter has many typos and tense mistakes, which i'll fix. later. super sorry, guys!

**cameos:** zeus from _hercules_.

**chapter five:** the assemblea

* * *

Darkness, it seems, is alive. Now, of course, you might all roll your eyes and nod and say, "Yes, yes, it's been described as such many, many times, in fiction and words and stories and every other depressed individual out there."

But no, no, don't you roll your eyes at me, insolent humans. You have _never_ felt it; you, who sit on your computer and tap tap tap away on your keyboard. You, who parties all night and drink your liver away. You, who only knows of the brighter side of life, who was born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You, who will never understand this churning, churning, roiling feeling that settles in the guts.

Oh, but I suppose I can't stick that label on each and every one of you. You humans are so different, each experience the same but vastly complex, and no one lives the same life as the one next to you. I suppose perhaps some of you might understand, and I suppose others might never understand.

Well, I'll try to explain to you, and it'll be up to you whether or not you perceive yourself to be able to comprehend this. It's not like I really care, except that I do, but I don't, and I like humans because you're so differently the same that it drives me mad, sometimes.

You humans drive me mad, because I am Loneliness, and I drive _you _mad.

* * *

The VIP lounge above The Crimson Rose is static without the pain, a room of silent statues with cold, pumping hearts.

Only one moves in this angry silence. Jack leans back on his place on the leather couch, and he sighs and pulls a pack of Marlboros from his right pocket and a lighter from his other.

"Want one?" he asks Bunnymund, who shoots him a glare of daggers. Jack shrugs. "Your loss."

He lights the cigarette, and the spark seems to unfreeze the atmosphere, though it remains no less chilly.

"Tooth," Jack murmurs around the stick. "Tooth, calm the fuck down. You can't do anything about it now. Rapunzel can take care of herself."

Toothiana, in a floor-length dark blue gown and crystals glimmering at her throat, sighs out a breath that sounds as if it's been dragged through a sheet of knives, and Jack almost hears the ice cracking around her joints. "She's the head of our drug trade," Toothiana hisses, and she runs a hand through hair that's dyed an ocean green.

"Her men aren't fuckheads, Tooth," Jack counters. "They'll be able to run without her for a while, but ultimately we'll have to find someone to take her place until she comes back. But what's shit about this is that the Assemblea is coming up, and by now all the gangs of Stella Morta will know about this. It makes us look weak, and we can't afford that."

"The King said that we'll just maintain a strong front," Toothiana says. She paces around the room, and the men's eyes follow her as she walks. Then, she stops, whirls to them, and says, "Who was the fucker who tipped off the police?"

"Anonymous," Bunnymund says, and he flops down next Jack. "We traced it back to a phone call, but the voice is unidentifiable and it was made from a public phone."

"She can take care of herself," Jack repeats. He blows a smoke ring into the air, heavy-lidded eyes following the trail as it evaporates.

"She's never been chucked into prison before, though," Toothiana snaps. "And by the way, how the fuck did the police know about the west safe house?"

"We don't know, Tooth!" Bunnymund snarls, and he rises and stares her down. He stands taller than her, broad and strong, but Toothiana holds her ground. "There was probably someone tracking her."

"The police aren't that smart!" Toothiana says, and her voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "I want to find out how she was tracked, and I want the culprit brought before me. Bunny, this is your job, and that's an order."

Bunnymund bristles, grey eyes burning with fury. But then, he hisses through his teeth and says, "Fine."

"By the way," Jack pipes up, "I have a Hyena bound and gagged in the basement. He's in charge of Scar's human trafficking, so you might want him for a little while because he'll probably know most of Scar's contacts."

Toothiana pulls away and cracks a dead smile. "Perfect," she says sweetly, "I need to blow off some steam."

"Why are you looking so fancy anyway?" Bunnymund asks disdainfully, taking a swig of vodka, because that's all he drinks. "You look like some dandy little fairy princess. It's gross."

"Fuck you, Bunny," Toothiana says mildly. "I'm not called the Tooth Fairy for nothing. And you watch your tone with me; I'm your superior."

"But I've also known you since we were in diapers, so your position means nothing to me," Bunnymund mutters into his bottle.

Toothiana smacks the back of his head and picks up her dress. "I'll be in the other room. Jack, go to the west safe house and retrieve Rapunzel's phone and get what you can from it. Bunny, don't be a deadweight and do something useful."

After Toothiana disappears, Bunnymund sighs and throws his empty bottle onto the table. "How many teeth do you think she'll collect after she's done with the Hyena?"

"Ten," Jack says immediately. He leans forward, blue eyes glittering with a challenge.

"No way," Bunnymund snickers, "I say twenty."

"Is that a bet?"

"Yup, one hundred in cash."

Jack smirks, a jagged gash on his face. "You're on."

* * *

On May sixth, the day of the Assemblea, Stella Morta is in lockdown. Clubs close early, restaurants shut at five, shopping centres don't even open, and people hurry along the streets with heads bowed and skirting around alleys.

Gang politics is hard to understand for most _normal_ people. The values they hold and the morals they abide by are not the same as the rest of their civilian counterparts. But then again, ethics are different in each person, obligations overshadowed by circumstances, because what the hell is 'THIEVES WILL BE PERSECUTED' when your stomach hasn't been filled in days?

Central Stella Morta, in an area that's only a few buildings big, is a neutral zone for all gangs. And that's where the biennial inter-gang meetings take place, called the Assemblea. It's one of the most important events, where leaders from all over the city gather in one room and, surprisingly, manage to refrain from killing each other for four hours.

The building used to be the city's performing centre, now jokingly called Heaven's Gate by the citizens, a world of ballets and operas and musicals. Ten years ago, it shut down due to a bombing incident that was blamed on Ange Noir, but who claimed otherwise. The bombing killed three dancers in the middle of the ending scene for The Nutcracker, paralysed an audience member, and injured everyone else. On that day, the Stella Morta police department openly declared war on street gangs. And the street gangs laughed in response, because what have the so-called heroes of the city done so far except chase red herrings and flounder like fish on land?

The tower clock chimes six o'clock, and the sky is clear and cloudless, screeching bats passing overhead and night falling like a veil on unfocused eyes. All through the day, dark figures had been gathering at Heaven's Gates, in twos and threes, or in groups as huge as ten. Now, with the signal starting, all is silent, and the citizens hurry home, because there's a gathering taking place, and it's out of their league, because no one wants to be out on the streets when all the Kings of Stella Morta assemble together.

But in Apartment Block Alpha, room 9B, Elsa Queen is just on the verge of a breakdown because her younger sister isn't home yet because she, like any other citizen of Stella Morta, is aware that May sixth is Assemblea day.

She clutches her phone, dread settling in a dirty pool in her stomach. She's texted Anna ten times, called her around thirty, and there's still no pickup.

The apartment seems even bigger without Anna, and Elsa wants to cry when the final chimes of six o'clock fades away, because that means that the streets will be overrun by gang members protecting the bosses inside Heaven's Gate. And for god's sake, they lived close to it, far too close.

The police, of course, had tried many times over the years to storm the Assemblea, but it had ended up with so many deaths on both sides that eventually they had stopped. The Assemblea continued, and the police nursed their wounded pride.

Elsa had been there, one time. It was just after she and Anna had moved into their apartment, and she was unaware of the importance of May sixth. She had almost walked into the middle of a gunfight before a police officer had shoved her inside a building and held her there, pressed to the ground, hearts beating in a wild fugue, for the bloodbath to finish. And when she walked out, holding onto the police officer for dear life, the scene was something she wished to erase from her mind, because every time she closes her eyes, she just sees serrated flesh and dead bodies and the coppery tang of blood.

"_Hey! You've reached my, er, Anna's Queen's, voicemail, so like, just leave a message after the beep!"_

Elsa just barely manages to stop herself from throwing her phone at the wall. Instead, she pushes her face into a pillow and screams.

Tears prick her eyes like tiny needle points, and Elsa forcefully rubs them away.

"_This is Rapunzel's voicemail so just say your shit or call me back later."_

Elsa's sobs sound small, even to her. Because she misses Rapunzel so, so, much, and there's a part of her that's angry about how Rapunzel lied, but another part that sort of understands, and yet another part that just wishes Rapunzel was here with her now.

"Fuck you, Rapunzel," Elsa whispers through her tears, and she presses fingers made of glass to her eyes, and relishes into the sparks of galaxies that appear once she does.

She isn't really sure how she feels about Rapunzel being a Red Crown. There's no time to feel, no time to think, in a city like Stella Morta. Elsa has no reason to hate gangs, but she has no reason to like them either. For her, gangs are a part of this city, integrated into its culture since its founding. She's lived her life perfectly fine without them, and she would rather keep it that way.

But Rapunzel has changed everything, and Anna spends more and more time out on the streets, and Elsa doesn't know how to control her life that is spiralling out of control.

Not for the first time, Elsa feels the absence of her parents gnawing a hole in her mind, because her parents would know what to do. Her parents would be able to explain to her that things like this is just a part of life, and that Elsa should accept them and continue on her way to doing whatever she wants.

But her parents aren't here, and Elsa is left alone with black thoughts and silence (and me).

* * *

In all of Jack's experience with the Assemblea, never has he remembered it to be so tense. And that's saying a lot.

The Kings sit like the Knights of the Round Table, an ironic comparison, because they are all anything but knightly. Perhaps twenty figures, both male and female, are seated at an equal distance from each other on a table that's damaged and chipped with the marks of fingernails and knives. It's even, worn down by the constant rubbing against it over the years. Behind these figureheads of Stella Morta's organized crime, shadowy guards flank them, pressed to the wall, but tense and still and alert, with fingers poised on guns and hooked onto daggers.

The head of the Red Crowns sits closest to the entrance. His huge, hulking figure creates a silhouette of steel and jaw-clenched fury. Nicholas St. North towers over all his fellow Kings, an immobile rock of power and strength. At his shoulder is his second-in-command, Toothiana, standing like a toy soldier, stiff and alert. And finally, pacing the shadows along with others of his rank, Red Crown's third-in-command, Jack Frost, stalks like a lion with blood in his eyes and a smirk wrapped around a lit cigarette.

The Assemblea is in chaos, every King or Queen aggravating one another as is customary at each meeting, but this time, there is an undercurrent of hatred underneath, because all the gangs have suffered a bad year. Police have amped up on their promise to rid the city of all crime, and everyone was feeling its effects.

"Silence!" North roars. His voice, like a shockwave, settles the leaders, and they glare at one another before turning to face him. "What I would like to know," North continues on, voice rumbling like far-off thunder, "is, first of all, which one of you cowards tipped off the police on my head of drug trade."

"Don't be ridiculous, Red King," Scar hisses. The man leans forward, darkness throwing the mutilations on his face into a terrible light; they run, crisscrossing like pink rivers. "You know that none of us would ever go that far."

_Because you are the strongest out of us all_ goes unspoken in the room, settling onto their spines like heavy cloaks.

"It was probably undercover police," Zeus says. The Iron King sits opposite North, and the two men stare at one another before Zeus looks away and continues. "They found one of my warehouses a few weeks ago that way."

"Well, the focus of this Assemblea is to find a way to dog the cops," Facilier cuts in. The leader of Ange Noir looks decidedly bored, playing with his cigar, but his eyes have death carved into them. "Not that it'll succeed. What makes you think any of us are going to work together? We want dead half the people in this room as it is."

Jack only half listens to the meeting; his job is to keep an eye on the other guards and protect his King. Understanding gang politics, while it is important that he has at least a basic knowledge of it, is not part of his job.

As he scans the room, his gaze falls upon a girl who stands behind Facilier. She is annoyingly familiar, and he struggles to remember where she is from. Strawberry-blonde hair frames her face elegantly, falling in waves down her back. Freckles sprinkle her cheeks, and her eyes are a light, clear green.

Usually, Jack is up to date with all the positions of rival gangs and who fills them. This girl must be new to the position of third-in-command, though, and it's rare for Jack to find out so late.

She stands poised, elegant and proud. There is a certain coldness to her face that belies her initial friendly demeanour, and the way she manages to stand still for so long suggests a patient strength that Jack hardly ever sees. In his mind, he marks her as dangerous, because she is an unknown, and unknowns are always dangerous.

"Anna Queen," Toothiana murmurs from the corners of her lips; it's lost in the many other whispers of conversation around the room. "She was promoted to the position of third only a few months ago."

"Third-in-command in Ange Noir?" Jack mutters back in disbelief. "How old is she?"

"Eighteen or so?" Toothiana shrugs. "We don't know much about her, just that she has an older sister named Elsa Queen, but Elsa's a civilian."

A sudden giggle stops their conversation, prompting heads to turn to a figure half-shrouded in darkness. North's lips curl immediately, and he says in a long-suffering voice, "What do you want to say, Pitch? Spit it out now or shut up."

(Pitch Black.

Ah, now he's a strange one. Possibly the strangest human being I've ever met.

Let me start at a certain point. Are you still listening?

His name isn't really Pitch Black. Of course, what kind of parents would name their child so morbidly? That's his title, his metaphorical crown placed upon his head by the followers, along with the label of the Nightmare King.

Pitch Black embraces loneliness and fear in a way I've rarely encountered before. Sometimes, I get ones like him. Those who love me, those who truly, truly love the darkness.

But I've never met one who loves it like him.

Remember before, when I said that darkness is alive? I said it's alive because of people like him. He _thrives_ in darkness, lives off the fear of his victims. He is called the Nightmare King because, like many other gang members, he is a torturer, but his method of torturing is far more insane than anything else I've come across. He's a manipulator, sneaks into your mind and finds out your fears and then eats them for breakfast, cackling over you as you drain away beneath him.

You might even say he is a human version of me.

But I disagree, because you haven't even seen my true power. Pitch Black has nothing on me, but uses my strength and converts it into his own. He's a parasite, of sorts. A slimy little leech who believes that he is the most terrifying thing this city has ever seen.

He's a child, and I hate him, just like humans hate me, and I hate you.)

"You're all fools," Pitch sneers. His angular face looms out, a shark nosing the surface of the water. "Enemies sit amongst you all, but you're too blind to see it. Fools, all of you."

Jack rests his hand on his gun when Pitch stands up, and around him, he sees the other guards do the same. Toothiana shifts slightly, fingers on her own weapon, amethyst eyes narrowed.

Pitch is widely considered to be insane amongst the gossipmongers of gangs, spread by people like Hermes (the little shit). It's always a risk, inviting him to the Assemblea, because one day, if he decides he wouldn't mind dying, he could open fire on all the Kings at will and laugh as the life bleeds from his veins.

But Pitch only sweeps to the entrance and says, "My time here is wasted. I'll be leaving early, if that's fine with you, O Mighty Red King?"

And, still sniggering, Pitch disappears in a swirl of black.

Not five minutes pass when there is a loud crack, and then the roof above them caves in.

* * *

At eight o'clock in the evening, Anna still hasn't returned home, and Elsa is about to cry all over again, because she doesn't even know where Anna _might_ be.

At two minutes past eight, her phone rings. Elsa pounces on it, barely registering that it's from an unknown number.

"Anna?" Elsa shouts into her phone.

_"Are you the medic?"_ a voice yells at her on the other line. _"Are you the medic who's friends with Rapunzel? The one who helped me the other night? Listen, I need your help–"_

Elsa hangs up and stares at her phone. It rings again.

_"Goddammit, don't hang up! I have your sister with me and she's hurt and just fucking come down to the building opposite Heaven's Gate–"_

The phone dies, and Elsa just manages to wobble onto her feet before she takes her medical kit and sprints out.

* * *

author's note:

anna's a gang member too, which explains all her absences and her late-night 'partying' and her… rebelliousness. tbh i think i made that revelation a little anti-climatic? sorry.

don't smoke, guys. it'll murder your lungs. jack is a dumbass. and personally, i think loneliness is sort of mentally unstable.

this chapter didn't come out that well because it was refusing to be written, and it was sort of terrible, and i'm sorry about that.

also gonna do some shameless self-promoting here. i recently published a jelsa oneshot called _a guide to saving jackson overland frost_. i know some of my readers here have already checked it out, and i thank you all very much again, especially those who were kind enough to leave reviews. if you like this story, you'll probs like the oneshot? haha.

thank you for all your support so far :)

updated: 5 March 2014


	6. Deal

i'm sorry this took so long ;A;

**rating:** t for swearing.

**warning:** russian swear words lol.

**notes:** _johntitor_ has stated in reference to chapter 1, that if you _do _get raped or someone comes to you directly after a rape, _**do not take a shower**_ and go straight to police, because then they can use the evidence on your body. thank you for that.

and just. woooooooooooow. how on earth did i manage to pass 100 reviews after just five chapters? BECAUSE OF _YOU GUYS_ OMG THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!

**cameos:** belle, main character from _beauty and the beast_.

**chapter six:** deal

* * *

Humans cry a lot. I make them cry a lot. Death makes them cry a lot too. So does Sadness. And Happiness. And surprise and nervousness and every one of the millions of emotions that humans feel.

Why do they cry? They obstruct their vision with saline liquid, preventing them from seeing the world. It's quite a useless talent, if you ask me. I've watched humans cry for as long as I've been around. Not once have I seen the point of it.

But I suppose you must be human to understand tears. You must be human to understand emotions.

I'm not human. I'm just Loneliness. I'm just your Narrator. I'm just telling a Story.

* * *

"Motherfuckers!" North roars through a bloody nose. "_Dolbo yeb_! _Svoloch'_! You dirty cowards!"

"Shut the fuck up, North!" Toothiana screams as gunshots are fired, and a bullet explodes a glass chandelier. "Just _move_!"

The roof has caved in, and Jack doesn't know what happened, except that suddenly there's a gunfight and there's blood and there's chaos, and he's vaguely aware of the wound on his arm opening up again as he's slammed to the ground, and he actually _feels _at least two ribs crack when a pile of bricks slam onto his chest.

He chokes, gasping for air, and Toothiana is pulling him up, every muscle shrieking its protest. Black spots dances across his vision, and he can feel wetness spreading across his shirt.

Most of the third-in-commands had panicked, more so when nobody knows what is going on, and it's dark, and there are enemies all around. Facilier, the Witch King, is roaring something foul, and Scar is howling in pain as his Hyenas pry a beam off his leg.

Jack spots Anna sprinting across wreckage, second-in-command Hans gripped in vice fingers. And then it clicks, and as he's pulling Toothiana and North out and across the street, where dark figures run amok in confusion, he's dialing a number that Rapunzel had given him, _just in case_, fingers slippery with blood.

He's silently thanking her now, as a familiar voice picks up the phone.

Several different possibilities had run through his head, but as soon as the girl–Elsa, was it?–had said her sister's name, he knows exactly which option to pick.

_When it comes to civilians, always use their loved ones against them, _North had once said, _because they're too softhearted for their own good._

And he does exactly that.

* * *

The first thing Elsa sees when she enters the building opposite Heaven's Gate is a blood trail.

And then the next thing she sees is a woman with purple eyes crouched in the corner over a man whose white tuft of hair is disturbingly familiar.

But the one thing she doesn't see is her sister, and she's staring at them, trying to keep the tears of panic from falling, trying to make sense of this situation.

"Elsa," the woman says, hurrying forwards and pulling her over.

"You," Elsa gapes, staring at the man, who raises his head weakly. "You–I remember you–broke into my apartment–what–?"

"We have you sister," the man croaks, "so if you do me a favour and help me one more time, and I'll let her go."

* * *

Jack hopes Elsa won't call his bluff. He's really, really, _really_ hoping she doesn't call his bluff. Because he has no idea where Anna is, and he really doesn't care. All he needs is a medic to check over his ribs, and seeing as gang members probably aren't welcome at hospital and their last medic had been killed two weeks ago, Elsa is the best way to go.

It takes around fifteen minutes to settle Elsa, because she's cautious and trapped, demanding where her sister is being held, asking if her sister's alright, and Jack sees Toothiana slowly figuring out that Elsa has no idea of Anna's involvement with Ange Noir, and she's debating with herself whether she should tell her or not.

Another wave of pain causes a groan of nausea to spill from his lips.

"Listen," Toothiana finally hisses, purple eyes flashing. "Either you help with the Spirit, or we send you on your way and little Anna will be brought back to you black and blue and possibly missing a few teeth, because that's my specialty. I am the Tooth Fairy; I'm sure you've heard of me."

And Elsa isn't stupid, so she drops her medical kit and makes her way over to Jack, while Toothiana hovers by his side. The woman had gotten away from the mess with only a few scratches, and she sent North back to Headquarters with Hook Hand for safety.

If Jack had been a little less in pain, he would have made some stupid joke about how often Elsa comes to his rescue. But unfortunately, he's in a lot of pain, and when Elsa gently nudges his ribs, checking the damage, he just relaxes and passes out into a blissful world of black.

* * *

"He needs a hospital. He needs an x-ray scan and he needs a proper doctor," Elsa says urgently to Toothiana

"Are you crazy?" Toothiana snaps. "We can't just waltz in like any normal person. We're criminals."

Desperately, Elsa says, "I can get you in. I have a friend. Please."

(You might think that Stella Morta hospitals would be free from all the taint that surrounds it. That's not so. Hospitals are just as corrupted as the government, just as in need of money as every other starving skeleton out there.)

With the help of Elsa's doctor friend, Belle, they manage to sneak Jack in, and it's almost too easy. Toothiana is forced to stay outside in the waiting area, and she's completely on edge, eyes flickering this way and that, anyone who looks at her twice gets a cold glare that sends them hurrying on their way.

And after too long, Elsa and Belle finally come out, with a limping Jack between them. Belle, with her mahogany hair frazzled and falling in wisps out of her bun, is said to be a genius, graduating from university with her medical degree three years early, if that's even possible.

"He can't stay here," Belle says quietly, as Toothiana takes Jack's weight. The man is dazed from painkillers, blinking slowly when Toothiana lifts his shirt to reveal clean white bandages. "I've given Elsa some painkillers that'll last him for a while, so just keep him out of action, and his ribs should heal in a few weeks."

"Thank you," Elsa says breathlessly. "I owe you."

And Belle simply smiles tightly at her and says, "Just stay out of trouble, Elsa."

* * *

As the three sit in a cab driven by one of their own people, with Jack wedged between them in the back seat, Toothiana glances at Elsa, who's pressed herself against the car door, as if she might be able to meld herself into it. The girl is shy, solitary, but Toothiana can see a strength in her that's driven by her love for her sister. It's a strength that the Red Crowns can use, and her abilities as a basic medic can come in useful.

"So where's my sister?" Elsa asks, and her voice breaks the silence like ice. "I've done exactly what you've wanted, so where is she?"

"Don't know," Toothiana shrugs.

Elsa whips her head towards her, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

"We don't actually have you sister," Toothiana says carelessly, and she gently pushes a sleeping Jack's head upwards again, so that he doesn't strain his neck. "Jack was bluffing."

"So–my sister is fine?" Elsa whispers. Her face is chalky white, lips bloodless.

"More or less," Toothiana says. She opts not to mention that Anna is part of Ange Noir. Not just yet. She clears her throat. "I have a proposition for you."

But Elsa isn't quite listening. Her head is reeling, and she's mentally punching herself for being so _stupid _as to believe what the man had said on the phone. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And now she's stuck in a moving cab going to who knows where, with some of the most influential people of Stella Morta's underworld.

And like, fuck, she's screwed.

"Elsa," Toothiana says sharply, "listen to me."

Jerking, Elsa stares at Toothiana like a nervous animal, but she nods once.

"So we've done a basic background check on you," Toothiana says bluntly. "Rapunzel's been keeping tabs on you, ever since we found out you were a medical student. The Red Lily is one of our fronts, and we hired you even though you weren't a member of the Red Crowns, because we believed that your knowledge in medicine would be helpful if we ever needed a medic in an emergency."

"I'm only a medical student–" Elsa says lamely.

"But you have connections," Toothiana says. "Like tonight, with Belle and Jack. So we're offering you to be our emergency medic, and use your network to get our members into hospitals if ever the occasion arises."

Elsa heaves a breath, and she's staring at Toothiana with a mixture of shock and confusion on her face. "What makes you think I'll help you?" she asks finally.

"Money," Toothiana says with a wry smile. "We're aware of your financial situation. You probably don't know this, but hospitals are the one place where gangs, as an unspoken rule, have never tried to get under our control. Hospitals are a neutral zone, but a corrupt government handles them. If you, Elsa Queen, can let us use its resources for our members, we are willing to pay. We are the strongest gang in Stella Morta. Money is not an issue when it comes to things like this."

A part of Elsa is violently refusing the Tooth Fairy's deal. It's crazy, it's suicidal, and it's completely and utterly insane. Elsa has never broken any laws before; she's never had to do anything illegal to get money. And what if the Tooth Fairy breaks her word? There's no contract to sign, nothing legitimate so that if the Tooth Fairy doesn't give payment when it's due, Elsa has no way of legally getting it.

But another part of her is considering it, because she desperately _needs_ the money. Working three jobs hasn't given her enough time to study, and when she's constantly worrying about how she's going to get the next meal on the table, her grades have dropped, and she's struggling to pay the fees.

One day, she's going to crack, and she can't afford to crack. Not now. Not ever.

"We'll give you three days to think about it," Toothiana says, and the car slows to a stop. With numb surprise, Elsa realises that they are outside her apartment, and she gets out, about as fast as a zombie, and watches as the cab turns around the corner and disappears.

And she almost collapses right then and there on the footpath, because she has no idea what's just happened, and her life has turned upside down, and she really, really, really needs to talk to Anna.

* * *

When Elsa opens the door ten minutes later, knees weak from fatigue, she sees Anna sitting in the middle of the living room with a pile of bandages around her and blood leaking from her right temple. Her clothes are soiled, and when Anna raises her eyes to meet with Elsa's horrified ones, she smiles gently, and the smile looks so painful that Elsa is rushing forwards immediately and cradling her sister as Anna leans onto her shoulder.

"Okay, it's okay," Elsa whispers. "Anna, just lie down here, okay? Just lie down and stay still. I'll be right back."

She runs to the kitchen and washes her hands before pulling on some latex gloves. When she returns, Anna has closed her eyes, and she's gripping the hem of her shirt, knuckles pale.

"This will hurt, but just bear with it," Elsa murmurs, and she presses gauze against the injury.

"Relax, Elsa," Anna breathes, eyes still closed. "It's not deep, just a scratch. It should stop bleeding after a bit. Please don't cry."

"I'm not crying," Elsa says, as tears drip from her face. "I just–_seriously_, Anna. What happened?"

"I tripped and fell," Anna says.

Elsa almost whacks her sister for her stupid lie, but refrains herself.

"I got a call," Elsa says, and she's trying to keep her voice even, but it just keeps _cracking_. "From the Red Crowns. They said they had you. I had to help them; it was the same boy from a few nights ago. He was hurt–something dumb like my connections or something–I just–don't know what to do–they offered me money–"

"Wait, _what_?" Anna gapes, eyes flying open. She tries to sit up, but Elsa pushes her back down. "They offered you money?"

"To use my connections to give them access to hospitals," Elsa nods. "Which is just plain stupid because the only connection I have is to Belle, you know, the genius doctor? And she's still pretty unwilling to do much to help."

"_No_," Anna says firmly, "no way. Do not accept the deal, you understand? It's a bad idea."

"But we need the money," Elsa says quietly. She locks eyes with her younger sister. "We need the money, really. I can't pay my university fees, and rent money is starting to slip back. I can't handle it by myself, Anna."

And Anna is on the verge of crying, and Elsa mistakes this for pain. She gently brushes Anna's hair out of her face, and adjusts the pressure on the wound.

"It's stopped bleeding," Elsa says after conversation has faded into nothing. She peers into Anna's eyes and checks her pupils, makes sure she isn't feeling dizzy, asking basic questions in case Anna has a concussion.

"Really, Elsa, I'm fine," Anna says, and she squeezes her sister's hands once.

Both of them don't sleep that night, just huddling together in front of the television, watching late night shows and drinking hot chocolate because hot chocolate heals a little of the scars and it's a sort of warmth that can be mistaken for love.

Anna in particular just stares blankly at her mug, because she doesn't know what to do.

The only reason Anna joined Ange Noir was _because _of the money. Spending her teenage years in Stella Morta, she's heard whispers.

_You get rich if you join a gang,_ they say. _You don't even need to find a job, just get initiated into a gang. The more powerful, the better._

So at fifteen, she seeks out a member of Ange Noir and, without hesitation, asks to join. And three years later, she's promoted to third-in-command because she had saved Facilier's life one time, pulling him out of the way from a sniper as the bullet explodes into the wall. It had truly been an accident, beginner's luck, but she had impressed Facilier, and her position changed.

She's earning money now, more than she's ever hoped for. And she's been planning on telling Elsa for a long time, but had never really found the right words. Elsa had always been working, or staying out late, and Anna, alone in their apartment, had drowned in feelings of bitterness. Because Elsa is free, and Anna is insanely jealous of that. Anna has done things that she hopes her sister will never know of, has the burden of staying alive on her shoulders.

People will kill for such a high-ranked position, and Anna trusts no one in her gang, not even Hans. Hans, who's always trying to tell her to leave gang life, that she can do something better with her skills. She dates him because she needs to keep an eye on him; she dates him because he is an anomaly, and there's something different about him that Anna needs to figure out.

(You have no idea how much Anna regrets it now. She regrets everything, I know. Sometimes, she curls up in her room and she cries, because that's what humans do when they're afraid.

Anna doesn't know if she's made the right choice; she had done what she thought was best. She had been desperate to help her sister, but she hadn't counted on how long it would take to climb ranks and earn enough money to truly make a difference to their miserable lives.

And with Elsa gone most of the time, Anna had been craving some sort of companionship, somewhere she would belong. She had been terribly lonely, always watching Elsa's back as her older sister disappears out the doorway, and sometimes it felt as if Elsa was disappearing forever.

You must understand, no matter how illogical this may seem, she was only fifteen.)

A sigh peels out, and Anna rests her head on Elsa's shoulder. And to her delight, Elsa doesn't wriggle away, but seeks out of her hand under the blanket and clasps it tight.

Anna wants to cry now, but for an entirely different reason.

* * *

"You–what?" Jack says blankly.

Toothiana rolls her eyes. "I _said_," she repeats impatiently, "that I invited the kid to be our medic."

"Elsa?" Jack says.

"_Yes_, you dumbfuck," Bunnymund groans. "She's said it five times already."

"But–why? What makes you think she's even going to say yes?" Jack says. "And you told her my _name_?"

"Yes, I did, and yes, she will," Toothiana says confidently. "I know she will. People like her are predictable."

"North say it was okay?"

"He's approved of it," Toothiana nods. "Says it's a good idea."

Bunnymund sighs and rolls onto his feet. The Crimson Rose is closed tonight, so the silence is slightly unnerving, when they are so used to having their conversations punctured by heavy bass and loud music.

"Moreover," Bunnymund says darkly, "what happened tonight at the Assemblea. That was Pitch's doing for sure."

"All the other gangs agree," Jack says, and winces when he tries to sit up. "I got into contact with Merida from Ange Noir, a Hyena from the Pride, and a couple of other associates, and they're all pressed pissed at him."

"The lunatic," Toothiana hisses. "We lost three men in that roof collapse. He's going to _pay_."

* * *

Text message from: the Red King

We will take Pitch Black's territory  
from him. Battle stations. Details  
to come.

* * *

Pitch has only a small territory in the middle of Stella Morta, but in a way, it's the most powerful piece of land in the city. Central Stella Morta holds two casinos whose income is worth the same as the Red Crown's and Ange Noir's entire territory.

* * *

Text message from: the Witch King

We will take Pitch Black's territory  
from him. Get ready for more  
details to come.

* * *

And whichever of the two gangs manage to seize it will become the strongest gang in Stella Morta.

* * *

author's note:

this was a terrible chapter and i'm really sorry.

so, here is anna's side of the story. elsa is jealous of anna because she thinks anna is free. and anna is jealous of elsa because she thinks elsa is free. but their definition of freedom is very, very different to each other's. how ironic, huh? in this way, anna and jack are quite similar to each other, in that they joined gangs because they thought it would help their respective siblings.

usually i don't reply to anonymous reviews via a/n, because i hate taking up space here because it annoys the fuck out of me (like u know those a/n that are just this huge 2 metre block of bold text that is all just replies to reviews?). however, i will make a special exception this one time, and therefore annoy the fuck out of myself lol.

to anonymous reviewer **intrigue**: NO WAIT, I DO HAVE A TUMBLR! (if anyone else cares; it's an exo blog though and it's boring) it's: **baozisareexolicious**. this is really weird because i've found a few of my jelsa readers on tumblr too lol. and thank you so much for your kind words ^3^ lemme hug you! /cannot believe you reread my fanfics omg/ i'm not actually as brilliant as you make me out to be; i just have a lot of time on my hands and 24239563 years of fanfic writing practice hehehe.

also, to anon reviewer **kkaebsong.** r u exo fan? :3


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